


Paradox

by Dernhelm49



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Gen, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Possible Character Death, Time Travel, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26630800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dernhelm49/pseuds/Dernhelm49
Summary: In different places and different times, Pam meets Jim, and these meetings change both their lives.
Relationships: Pam Beesly/Jim Halpert
Kudos: 5





	1. The stranger in the woods

**Author's Note:**

> This story is cross-posted from MTT: http://mtt.just-once.net/fanfiction/
> 
> Also, I'm not a native English speaker, so here would be some mistakes. Sorry for them. 
> 
> And, in this story, Pam is ten years younger than in the canon.

_July 18, 1999, Lake Wallenpaupack, PA_

Pam Beesly had enough. 

It should have been the best summer of her life. For the first time, she went somewhere without her parents and Penny, and the volleyball camp was a place where she could be not just a goody-two-shoes Pammy or artsy-fartsy Pampkin, but someone else. Someone, who could prove that she was cool just by doing something she was good at. 

Turned out, it didn’t matter how good she played at all; since Pam was the youngest and the shortest, had frizzy hair, and had no idea who Buffy was or what Britney sang about, she always was the last to be picked up in a team. And no matter how smart she was — for every adult she became ‘Pammy’ the next moment after she said her name. 

Of course, she’d tried to fit in at first, she’d started conversations, made comments when it had been to the point, and swallowed silently any mockery that followed. She’d given up after a girl she’d believed to be her future best camp friend had started a rumor that Pam had had lice. She kept a meek smile at days, but at nights she pressed the pillow to her face to stifle her sobbing; if someone found out that she was crying, things definitely would be worse for her. Pam wasn’t vain and didn’t think that the world turned around her, her needs and problems, but she felt as everyone in the camp was whispering behind her back, commenting on her every misstep, even the slightest one. 

After the first week, she realized that she couldn’t do that anymore, couldn’t pretend that everything was fine, and counted the days before her parents would take her home. Pam had called them once and begged to take her home, but they had simply brushed her off and told her to seek a silver lining even in harsh experience; it was a sign that she could depend only on herself. 

The plan she’d elaborated was simple and effective — to go home on her own. She had a few dollars, and she knew where the bus stop was; she’d prefer to be grounded for the rest of the summer rather than staying here even for a day longer. So, when everyone went dancing, she sneaked from the dance hall and returned to her cabin, where her backpack waited for her. Pam left most of the things, taking only money, a can of soda and a sandwich (in case she’d be hungry), and a stolen flashlight. After all, Pam thought as she squeezed through planks of a camp fence, they’d rather decide that she’d hid somewhere or drowned in the lake, than that she’d run away. That thought made her proud of herself for a little bit. 

The forest was dark and full of tiny noises — leaves rustling above Pam’s head, her measured breathing, the squeaks of her old sneakers. Almost immediately, Pam turned her flashlight on; its ray lit trees, ferns, and a slightly visible path. She remembered this way, they’d used it when they’d arrived at the camp; a two and a half miles and she’d be at the highway. She just had to stay the course. 

The first problem appeared when Pam noticed a silhouette of a cabin she’d never seen before. She stopped on her tracks and bit her lip. The only buildings here were the cabins in the camp and summer houses near the lake. She’d probably taken a wrong turn, Pam said herself, trying to suppress the wave of panic rising inside her. It was not a big deal. She could retrace her steps and start her journey again. 

She turned back, observed the trees around, and didn’t recognize them at all; Pam looked under her feet, trying to find the path. It wasn’t winding at all, and soon Pam returned to a big oak tree she was sure grew not far away from the camp. She took a couple of deep breaths and went the path again. 

This time she was especially careful, paying attention to every turn of the road, even the slightest one. She noticed a place where the path split on two and told herself that she had just taken the wrong direction the first time. With a triumphant smile, Pam chose the fuller path, deciding that it had to be the right one. 

She ended up near the same cabin. 

This time she couldn’t play it cool. Pam stared at the dark windows, and the traitorous word ‘lost’ crept into her mind. She blinked tears back and tried to remain rational, but the panic took reins and screamed at her to go back to the camp, crawl into her bed, and pray that her runaway stayed unnoticed. Of course, that meant that everyone would be right about her, but it would be better to be despised and safe than gloriously dead, right?

Before she agreed that right, she didn’t have to get herself into more trouble than she’d done already, several things happened at the same time. 

A dazzling white light blinded her. She screamed, but her voice drowned into a loud crashing noise; Pam fell on her knees, pushed her body to the trunk of the nearest tree, closed her eyes, and haphazardly pressed her flashlight to turn it off; the fear petrified her. The idea of leaving the camp had never seemed so horribly wrong as it did now.

But in a few seconds, all of these were over, and the forest was dark and almost innocently quiet again. All Pam could hear was the frantic rhythm of her own heart, stuck somewhere in her throat. 

And then she heard another sound, that seemed eerily out of place — a stifled cry, full of pain. Pam froze on her spot, the new wave of fear engulfed her. The cry repeated, accompanied by someone’s labored breathing. Pam pressed a palm to her mouth so no sound would betray her and carefully peeked out her safe spot behind the tree. 

The door was wide open now, but Pam noticed that much later; her gaze fell on a man, lying on his back in front of the cabin. His eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell heavily; his right leg stuck out at an odd angle and looked more like a broken branch than a human limb. He definitely needed help, but Pam was too scared to do something other than staring at him. She shifted slightly, and her knee stepped on a thin stick; the loud crack made her gasp, and though her voice was muffled with her hand, the man alerted instantly, turning his head in her direction. 

‘Well, what are you waiting for? Finish me, and we’ll be done with this crap.’ 

When he heard no reply, he repeated louder. 

‘I know where you are hiding! Show yourself!’ 

It was stupid, and Pam knew it, but for years she’d been told to listen to adults, and her reaction on the direct order was almost automatic. She got up her feet, though they shook violently and barely kept her straight. The man on the ground watched as she stepped from behind the tree and furrowed his eyebrows. 

‘Karen wouldn’t send a child to the mission. Who are you?’ he demanded. And she knew that she shouldn’t talk to strangers and scolded herself when she heard her trembling voice. 

‘I’m Pam.’

‘Pam?’ he repeated, and something in his tone changed from assertive to concerning. ‘Pamela Morgan Beesly?’ 

She sucked air sharply and made a step back when he rose on his elbows. 

‘How do you know my name?’

The man seemed to ignore her question, narrowing his eyes to study her features, though, in the darkness, it was barely possible. 

‘You were older, when… no, nevermind. What are you doing here?’ 

Everything inside her screamed to escape; this situation was too creepy and incomprehensible, her journey that had started as ‘Homeward Bound’ turned into a scary movie she wasn’t allowed to watch. Pam made a few more steps ready to turn around and run, and he noticed her moves. 

‘Wait, don’t go, I won’t do any harm to you, I swear, I…. argh!’ 

He had to stir his bad leg and fell back on the ground, hissing in pain, and it was a solid chance for Pam to disappear. And yet again, she couldn’t move; his suffering made her stay. 

‘You’re hurt,’ she stated simply from a distance. 

‘Yeah, I noticed,’ he said back with a crooked smile and unmasked sarcasm in his voice. Pam preferred to tune that out. 

‘I can call for help,’ she suggested, still unsure if she could find a way back in the camp. The thought about how she’d explain her night wandering in the forest never occurred to her. 

‘No need, I recover pretty quickly. Especially if you have something sweet. Candy, chocolate, sugar, something like that.’ 

A picture that had kept her awake for many and many nights after she’d peeked as her older cousins had watched ‘Men in Black’ appeared uninvited. 

‘Are you an alien?’ she blurted out, covering her mouth again and stepping even further. ‘A giant cockroach from outer space?’ 

‘What?’ he asked, obviously stunned with this accusation. ‘I’m not an alien, and I don’t look like a cockroach. Haven’t you noticed?’ 

Pam didn’t answer immediately, just pointed her flashlight at him and turned it on, ignoring his protest as the light hit his face. He wore something that looked like a ragged grandma’s blouse, his nose was rather big and his hair was a complete mess, but otherwise, he looked quite normal.

‘Yep, no antennae,’ she nodded. ‘But your head still looks weird.’ 

‘Ouch,’ the man grumbled, and Pam shrugged. As strange as it was, but somehow his reaction put her at ease. 

‘So, who are you?’ Pam asked again. ‘If you say that you’re not from space.’ 

‘I’m Jim,’ the man said simply as if his response explained everything. 

‘Like Earthworm Jim?’ now Pam was curious. ‘Where is your space suit?’

‘Such a dork,’ he rolled his eyes. ‘‘Why are you so insistent that I’m some kind of cosmic being?’ 

‘Well, I saw a light… and heard a loud noise… and then you appeared,’ Pam explained. ‘What else could I have thought?’ 

‘A horrible light bulb explosion?’ Jim suggested. 

‘Was it a horrible light bulb explosion though?’ Pam asked then and he looked away. 

‘Ummm… no.’

She was ready to ask once more about what had happened, but before she did that Jim tried again to raise his upper torso on the elbows, and winced in pain. 

‘I have a soda can if it helps,’ Pam said carefully, wincing in sympathy. 

‘Oh, that would be quite helpful, thanks,’ he clenched his teeth, stilling himself and giving her a grimace that was supposed to be a reassuring smile. 

Pam took her backpack off and fished out a can. She gauged a distance between them and rolled soda in his general direction. He grunted, trying to reach the can with his fingertips, and chuckled when the item was finally in his hand. With a loud ‘pop!’ the can was opened, and a jet of shaken grape soda hit his face, making Pam burst into giggling. 

‘What’s so funny?’ Jim asked grimly, trying to wipe the sticky liquid with the sleeve of his shirt. 

‘Your face!’ Pam couldn’t stop herself, the giggles escaped her mouth despite the situation and her best efforts to calm down. 

‘Ha-ha-ha,’ Jim finished the can in a couple of big gulps and made a shuddering exhale. ‘Okay, now the hard part. You’d better look away.’ 

But, of course, she didn’t. 

And she watched with horror as he arched his back, the expression on his face full of agony. He reached for his broken leg then and with a sickening crack snapped it in place; his body shuddered, and Pam felt as she was going to throw up. 

A faint light distracted her from Jim’s convulsions. It lit not far away from them and quickly waned; she almost missed the sound that followed. But then there was a light and a sound again, and then again. 

‘Jim?’ Pam tried to have his attention, but he still lay on the ground with his eyes closed and his heavy breathing, and he didn’t notice her meek voice. 

‘Jim!’ she cried when he didn’t react on her first call, and this time his eyes opened wide. He blinked, trying to focus his gaze on her and gave her a weak smile. 

‘Hey, I’ve told you not to watch,’ 

‘Yeah, I know, but look, I saw the light. Thrice.’ 

‘What light?’

‘I think the same I saw when… when I found you.’ 

‘Oh, crap,’ he muttered and, to Pam’s great astonishment, practically jumped to his feet. He was still shaking slightly, but nothing pointed at the fact that he’d had an open fracture just a few moments ago. 

‘Who are you?’ she whispered. 

‘I’m Jim,’ he said, looking around with concern. ‘Hey, can you run?’ 

She just nodded. 

‘Then run. Now.’ 

‘But… your leg? Are you gonna be alright?’ 

‘Just RUN!’ 

She obeyed, though she wanted to stop and look back to see what happened to Jim so often. But instead, she kept running, her legs moving mechanically, the half-empty backpack hit her lower back at her every step, and the sharp pain settled at the right side under her ribcage. The fourth flash of white light flickered in the distance, and Pam quickened her pace. In every shadow, behind every tree, she saw intimidating silhouettes, that were ready to grab her. The questions swirled in her mind, but the fear kept them bottled. All she could do right now was running for her life. 

She didn’t register the direction and stopped herself right before crashing into something solid; she blinked rapidly, recognizing in the obstacle before her the camp fence. 

Pam didn’t quite remember how she sneaked into her cabin and curled under the blanket on her bed. The fear still made her stomach churn, but once she could finally catch her breath, all thoughts she didn’t dare to think about flooded her mind. Who was that man in the forest? What was he running from? How could he recover from such an injury so quickly? 

And, the most important question — how did he know her name?

She lay and thought and couldn’t find any answers, and that ate her from inside. 

She heard as the door opened as her roommates came back from the dancing; she listened to their sneering comments on her early going to sleep and felt that she couldn’t care less about their stupid issues or their even more stupid opinions. 

The next day, during the game, when after her especially successful attack a ball squashed the nose of her former future best camp friend, Pam felt almost no remorse. 


	2. The beginning of everything

_November 11, 2005, Pittston, PA_

In the end, she was crying over a pebble in her shoe. 

It wasn't like her expectations were high anyway. Roy Anderson wasn't the kind of guy Pam usually would have considered dating. But he was both popular and cute, he'd asked her out in a charming way, and Izzy would have never forgiven her if she'd shot down a quarterback. And, as Pam had decided, even if they hadn't hit it off, she'd have gotten a free hockey ticket nevertheless. 

She'd been slightly confused that she hadn't found Roy and his brother at their seats after she'd returned from the ladies' room, and her confusion had remained even after a janitor had told her that two beefy guys had left. She had been strangely calm when she'd walked to the parking lot to find out that his truck had been gone too. Only after she'd stomped her foot like a little child and had felt a slight pain in her right toe, the tears had been spilled at last. 

Sitting on the cold bench with a pebble in her shoe and angry tears on her face, she thought that it was the most expensive ticket in her life. 

God, it was so humiliating! Pam clenched her fists like that could make her feel any better. He'd probably laugh with his idiot brother at naive little Pam, who believed in every bullshit, said in a charming tone, and who was so desperate to have a date that she would be fine with treating her like crap. Or maybe Pam was so plain and mousy that he'd simply forgotten about her existence as soon as she'd been out of sight. Pam couldn't decide which option stung more. 

She wiped her face and placed her right ankle on her left knee, untying the laces of her shoe to get that damn pebble off. 

Pam just took her white sneaker off when she heard a voice she'd never thought to hear again. 

'Why are you crying?' 

She lifted her face so sharply that her neck almost cracked.

Jim. 

She'd persuaded herself that there hadn't been any night meeting in the woods, that her imagination was vivid and that she'd read too many sci-fi stories — even if she'd never been too familiar with that genre. For six years, she told herself that she knew her dull and predictable life quite well and that there was nothing mysterious, dangerous, or even slightly thrilling in her daily routine. And when she finally believed in that, here he was in person, dressed as a dull and predictable guy, every father would like to see near his daughter. 

Somehow, that irritated her the most. 

'What are _you_ doing here?' amidst all the questions this one was the safest to ask. 

'I asked first,' he replied. 

'I have a pebble in my shoe,' without breaking eye contact with him, Pam lifted her shoe and shook it several times. 'See? Your turn.' 

'Well,' he started. 'I wanted to say 'thanks,' you know, for the soda. It really, really helped.' 

Pam watched with widening eyes as Jim scratched the back of his neck and nodded then. 

'And I kinda feel bad about the way we parted, so I want to make it up for you or something.' 

'Okay,' said Pam, not knowing what else to say. 

'Cool,' Jim summed up with a smirk. 'Follow me.' 

He turned around and made a few steps before looking back at Pam, who didn't attempt to move. 

'Well? Are you going to sit like that all evening?' he asked her, slightly impatiently. 

'You know,' Pam said, taking her time to put her shoe back, 'my dad knows where I am.' 

'O-kay,' Jim said, obviously not understanding where she was getting at. 

'And if I don't return home by ten, he'll drive here for me. And that guy,' Pam pointed at the janitor, who picked up trash around the arena entrance 'will say that I left with you, so if something happens to me, you'll have big, big troubles.' 

Pam hoped that she sounded more confident and controlling than she felt. 

'Why something should happen to you?' he furrowed his eyebrows as if she asked something endlessly stupid. 

'I don't know. You tell me,' Pam narrowed her eyes, staring at Jim and watching as realization sunk in for him. 

'Are you always that suspicious?' he snorted, and Pam rolled her eyes. 

'No, only with guys I see for the second time in my life!' she retorted, unsure why she still had that conversation in the first place.

' _Second time?_ Yeah, that makes sense then,' strangely, but her response seemed to satisfy him. 'But look, I swore that I wouldn't do any harm to you, remember?' 

Pam nodded. Of course, she remembered. She'd stayed then, and she was going to stay now, even if that wasn't the smartest idea. But she had been left by her date, depressed, and, honestly, tired of being the responsible one. Jim raised his hands, shook them in the air, and put them in his pockets. 

'If it makes you feel better, I'll keep my hands there and use them only if that would be a crucial need. Deal?' 

'And that was you who called me a dork,' Pam smirked, but, at the same time, stood up and made a few steps towards him. 

'And I still haven't changed my mind on that matter,' he mumbled as he went away from the arena building, and Pam followed. Dozens of questions popped in her mind, and she wasn't going to keep them for herself. 

'Where are we going?' 

'It's a surprise.' 

'Oh, you know how to put a girl at ease and clear all suspicions,' and yet, she didn't slow her pace. 

'What could I say, I'm a natural charmer,' he shrugged nonchalantly. 

'And a modest one too,' Pam quipped back. When he didn't answer immediately, she added. 'You know when I saw you last time you were running away from something. I'm glad you succeeded.' 

'Same here,' he smirked. 

'So… what were you running from?' Pam asked carefully. Jim fell silent, and when she thought that he wouldn't give her any answer, he said. 

'Some folks from work. Oh, here we are!' 

Jim stopped abruptly on his tracks and turned to Pam. 

'I'm going to get a key, it's on a chain around my neck. And I'll need my hand for that. Just saying.' 

'Okay,' said Pam though there was nothing around that could be opened with a key. 

Jim pulled out a chain with a metal object that looked more like a dog whistle than an actual key. He slid it off his neck, gripped the key in his hand, and made a motion like he was opening a lock that only he could see. His other hand reached out as if he wanted to turn a doorknob. 

With a muffled 'plop,' an actual ajar door appeared before them. 

Pam's jaw dropped open, and she blinked multiple times, but the door seemed real — a cheap white door you wouldn't give a second glance to if you met it in an office building. But it appeared out of nowhere right in the middle of an empty street, and it instantly made this door an extraordinary one.

'Welcome!' Jim hid the key and put his hands back to his pockets.

'What the actual fu...'

'Language!' Jim interrupted the dumbfounded girl. In different circumstances, the smug look on his face would have made her groan in annoyance, but now she could just open and close her mouth wordlessly. 

'What kind of magic is it?' she finally managed to squeak. 

'The best one — science!' 

He looked so proud of himself that it was almost comical. His shit-eating grin washed away Pam's shock.

'Oh, just shut up!' she retorted inelaborately and walked through the door.

Somehow, instead of the desolated November Pittston street, she appeared in a long corridor with a multitude of different doors on both sides. It reminded her of 'Monsters Inc.,' but unlike the cartoon, the view before her was both surreal and tangible. She touched the nearest door, and her fingers felt a slightly rough wooden surface with cracked blue paint. 

'I don't want to be a rude host,' Jim said behind her, and Pam withdrew her hand quickly, 'but could you please avoid touching… anything?'

'Sorry,' Pam muttered and hugged herself, visually uncomfortable. She stepped back, allowing Jim to go ahead, and he led her by hundreds and hundreds of doors. When they stood still, the doors looked static, but as soon as Pam followed Jim, the doors seemed to shuffle, rearranging themselves, appearing and winking from existence, bringing Pam nascent vertigo. 

'Try to look ahead or at the floor,' Jim warned her. 'It'll take some time to accommodate for the fourth dimension traversal.' 

Instead of studying her feet, Pam chose to stare at the white collar of his shirt, peeking out from underneath his black sweater. She lost the count of the entrances they passed when Jim finally stopped before the high gate, made of stone-looking dark wood. 

'I think that's here,' he nodded as if he found some confirmation. 'But you need some radiation protection.' 

Honestly, Pam expected any weird futuristic stuff and felt slightly disappointed when Jim reached out his hand with a pair of cheap-looking sunglasses. Tentatively, Pam took one, and he put on the other. 

'Ready?' he asked her when her eyes were hidden behind the dark lenses. 'Ta-da!' 

He opened the door with a swish, and his hands returned to his pockets, but Pam barely noticed that. All her attention was instantly drawn to the sight behind the door. 

There were no walls, no ceiling, and no floor — all the space behind was filled with a haze, floating in the darkness, one idle blend of copper, ginger, amber, and hues Pam was sure no other living person could name. Here and there were splashes of tiny radiant dots, bright and cold. Pam thought she could easily reach her hand out and dispel this haze with a simple wave. And at the same time, she felt so tiny, so insignificant, and endlessly young compared to the sight before her. 

'If you were trying to convince me that you're not an alien, you failed,' Pam whispered, and Jim chuckled. She turned her face slightly to see the orange reflections in his sunglasses. 

'Can you just drop this absurd idea of yours, thank you very much. And quit staring at me, you're going to miss the best part!' 

Pam startled, facing away from Jim. One of the bright dots blinked, and Pam's heart was squeezed with a feeling of sorrow for a tad of a second, apprehending its disappearance; but instead of going out, this dot shone brighter and brighter, until all the expanse was filled with a sizzling white light. Pam squinted her eyes, almost feeling as the distant warmth brushed her face, but before the light became too much to bear, it ceased, and the shining dot looked like before. But then again, the second wave came, so different from the first one; it was like a tide in the form of a sphere, all teal and turquoise, trying to reach an endlessly far shore, and Pam in a reckless impulse moved forward, mesmerized with the play of light, colors, and movements. 

'Don't go through the door,' Jim's voice snapped her out of her trance, and she made a step back. 'Apart from the obvious lack of air, the amount of energy needed to actually create a portal will probably cause the future to implode.'

'What future?'

'All of it.'

'By the way, what was that?' Pam asked when Jim leaned forward to close the door. 

'The formation of the Milky Way Galaxy,' his tone was so casual like he was explaining how to get to the library instead of revealing the secrets of the universe. 'Well, the beginning of it. Watching the whole process, even on the rewind, will take a couple of millions of years, give or take.' 

'Do you show that to all of your girls?' Pam raised her eyebrow at him. 

'Hey, who do you take me for?' Jim sounded so offended that it just couldn't be sincere. 'For your information, I don't take just anyone here, so give me some credit.' 

Pam's lips curled into a smile, and she asked, pointing at a random door. 

'What is behind other doors?' 

'Other places,' he didn't elaborate, and Pam pressed for more. 

'May I try another one?' 

'Mmmm…. yeah, sure. You can open thaaaat one,' he led her further and stopped near the indistinguishable metal door. 'Yep, try this one.' 

Full of anticipation, Pam grabbed the doorknob and yanked it. With a 'click,' it opened, and Pam looked through it, wondering what miracle she'd see this time. 

It took her full minute to realize she was looking at her house. 

'I don't understand…' she started, throwing a confusing glance at Jim, but instead of answering, he nodded to her to move, and she made a tentative step through the open exit. The white light blinked, and she heard an echo of a loud clap. Jim followed, and in a second, they stood on her street, the corridor and doors disappeared as if all of that was just a figment of her lively imagination. 

'Did you tell me that you're expected to be at home at ten?' Jim asked, almost cheerfully, and her heart dropped. 

'Yes, but…'

'Well, here you are. I hope it was all fun. Have a great life, Pam!' 

He was going to go away, once and for all, Pam thought when he made a move to reach for his key. 

'Wait!' she exclaimed desperately and bit her lip when he stopped.

'Hm?' 

'That's just cruel!' 

'Excuse me?' his eyebrows disappeared behind his wild hair. 

'You can't leave me like this! Not after showing me this place and these doors and the worlds behind them! How could I return to my boring life knowing that such things exist but will never ever happen to me again? Promise me. Promise me that we'll meet again!'

She was slightly breathless after that speech, with her gaze begging for an answer. Jim flinched and averted his eyes. 

'There are some rules, actually,' he said, trying to keep his tone steady. 'Like, no one should know their future. Foreknowledge causes paradoxes.' 

'So, we _will_ meet again?' 

'I can neither confirm, nor deny,' he scoffed, but even his reluctance couldn't ruin a bubble of hope that rose inside Pam's chest. She still didn't know what she wanted from her life and didn't even start to think about a college, but now she knew for sure that the time would come when the wonders and magic wouldn't be just words from fairy-tales or easily-forgotten dreams. They would return to her life once again. 

This realization made her smile so wide that her cheeks started to hurt; it made her head dizzy, and her legs bounce as she took a few steps toward Jim, threw her arms around his neck, and gave him a peck in his lips. Out of surprise, he placed his hands on her waist, to steady her, and then pushed her away slightly. 

'Thank you!' Pam lilted, and the dumbfounded expression on Jim's face made her feel even better. She was tired of being the one that was shocked. 

'I didn't say anything!' he protested. 

'You didn't have to!' Pam replied. 'See you later!' 

She almost ran away after that, too scared that he would say something that would nullify her hope or that she would ruin that herself with hasty words or actions; she didn't dare to turn around and gauge his reaction on her retreat. She opened the front door of her house, hid inside, and leaned against the hall wall. She still felt warmth on her lips and a tingle in her fingers, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw the stellar swirl of orange and blue. No way she could sleep anytime soon. 

'Pam? You are early,' Mrs. Beesly peeked from the kitchen and smiled at the sight of her visually excited daughter. 'How did your date go?' 

'Um, pretty awesome,' Pam said, taking her coat off and putting it on a rack. She couldn't stop grinning and didn't care that her mother might press her for details. 

'Well, I'm glad. I always liked Roy, he's such a sweetheart.' 

'Who?' Pam blinked. For a moment, she couldn't understand who her mother was talking about. Mrs. Beesly didn't stop smiling, though a hint of confusion flicked in her eyes. 

'I thought you had a meeting with Roy Anderson, didn't you?' 

'Oh, right,' Pam blushed and shook her head slightly. 'No, it's not… no, nevermind, it's not because of Roy. It's just… do you remember where my art kit is hidden? I need it now.' 

She wasn't sure if she could capture on the paper everything that she'd seen, but she had to try. 

'Um, yes, I think it's in the closet in the guest room. But Pam,' there was concern in Mrs. Beesly's voice now, 'what's going on?' 

'I'll tell you everything, but later!' Pam kissed her mom on the cheek and climbed the stairs, jumping two steps at once. 

As she was upstairs, Pam paused near the window and peeked out behind the curtain. She could swear that she saw a tall silhouette across the street. 

She took that for a good sign.


	3. The belated gift

_March 26, 2008, 8:43 a.m., University Park, PA_

Something crashed and Pam startled, waking up; a moment later she dropped her head back on her pillow with a stifled groan. Drinking that much on Tuesday night was a terrible idea after all; she felt like someone blended her brain with pieces of broken glass and filled her mouth with sand, taken, probably, from a cat litter. Part of her wanted to curl under her comforter and catch a little more sleep; another part urged her to crawl out of her bed and find something to ease the painful symptoms of her state.

She laid still, musing over the options when another noise came.

‘Knock-knock-knock-knock!’

Every knock felt like a tiny nail in her skull and Pam groaned once more.

‘One moment,’ she shouted and winced at the sound of her own voice. Pam rolled off her bed, rubbed her eyes violently, and went — or, rather, creeped — through her dorm room to open the door.

She was slightly confused when there was no one behind.

‘Knock-knock-knock-knock!’ repeated and Pam felt as the goosebumps crept up her spine. She sobered up instantly, squinting her eyes to her closet and not trusting her ears. But that was the only remaining option and repeated for the third time knocking just confirmed her suspicion. She frantically looked around and grabbed a half-empty bottle of wine, left from her birthday party; it wasn’t a good weapon, but it could hit really hard if there was a need.

With a rapidly beating heart, that echoed in her temples, she swung the closet door open and instantly brandished her bottle.

‘Hey,’ said Jim.

She jumped in shock; the bottle slipped from her weakened fingers and fell on the carpet with a soft ‘thud!’

‘Jim!’ she gasped. ‘What… why… how did you even fit in my closet?’

He stepped out of the closet, his forehead almost hit the lintel and Pam watched how his expression changed from anxious and insecure to relieved. Next moment he was already embracing her in a bear hug.

‘Oh, you remember me!’

Pam froze with her arms pinned to her body, painfully aware that she was hugged by a man she saw for the third time in her life (not that she _disliked_ it, but still) and that all she wore was an oversized t-shirt, pajama pants, and a pair of fluffy socks; she was unbelievably glad that she’d taken her time tonight to change instead of falling asleep in her party outfit. Also, it was quite fortunate that her roommate had already left — it would have been hard to explain how a strange man had appeared inside a locked room and why Pam hadn’t called the police yet.

‘Of course, I remember you,’ she muttered. ‘Don’t take it personally, but there are not so many people I know who are so prone to dramatic appearances.’

He didn’t answer immediately, just squeezed her tighter before letting her go. Pam stepped back, her head spun both from her hangover and from his sudden visit.

‘Not that I’m not glad to see you and everything, but I have a terrible headache and if I don’t do something about that right now, I might die. Literally die. Okay?’

‘I don’t want you to die,’ his sad puppy eyes expression appeared so suddenly and looked so sincere that Pam felt an urge to reassure him that she’d be totally fine. ‘I have some medicine, but it probably won’t be effective on you since you don’t have… um… nanobots in your blood.’

‘Yeah… I’m good, thanks,’ Pam couldn’t decide if she should laugh, be amazed or cringe about this piece of information. ‘Not that I usually take pills from strangers anyway.’

‘Strangers? Ouch,’ Jim huffed and sat down on her roommate’s chair, folding his arms around its top rail and watching as Pam fussed around, seeking for her own medicine and some water to drink it with.

‘What are you taking?’ he asked curiously when she finally found a red and white box.

‘Tylenol,’ she answered and, noticing the confused look on his face, flipped the box and read. ‘A-ce-ta-mi-no-phen.’

‘Oh, paracetamol,’ he nodded, recognizing the name. ‘Not the best hangover cure.’

She almost forgot how unbearably smug he could be.

‘So what, should I suffer then?’ She took the pill and chugged a glass of water.

Jim just shrugged.

‘Well… um… To what do I owe this honor?’ Pam asked, crossing her arms over her chest, partially to hide the fact that she didn’t have her bra on.

‘I’ve got you a birthday present!’ he said brightly and Pam felt as her cheeks grew hotter and her jaw dropped.

‘How did you…’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he cut her off. ‘Choose a time and a place and we’ll go where right now.’

‘Wait. Right now? Like this?’ for the second time this morning Pam regretted her decision to drink that much.

‘Oh, don’t worry about your attire,’ Jim said nonchalantly. ‘I have a decent wardrobe for every era where you’ll find something appropriate. So, where do you want to travel?’

The thought about her classes had never occurred to her as she exclaimed enthusiastically:

‘Let’s kill Hitler!’

‘Wow, Beesly, such a bloodlust,’ Jim almost choked at her suggestion. She just rolled her eyes, almost missing the way he called her, by her surname.

‘What? I’ve always dreamed of world peace.’

‘That’s a nice dream, but it doesn’t work that way,’ his tone changed from light-hearted to serious. ‘The reasons for that war were too deep and the death of one particular man wouldn’t stop it. One leader would be easily replaced by another, more intelligent and cunning, and that would end up with more deaths and destructions. Besides, we’ve already tried that.’

‘Huh?’

‘Yeah, it didn’t work out and we had to cancel. So, choose something else. And I’ll appreciate it so much if that doesn’t include murdering people.’

Pam was torn between asking more about the mysterious ‘we’ and trying to pick up something that would be special for her. Her gaze fell on the poster above her bed and she suggested.

‘Maybe… the first Impressionist exhibition then?’

His smile was broad and happy.

‘Everything for the birthday girl!’

Jim stood up, reaching out his hand, and Pam hesitated for a tad of a second before placing hers in his open palm.

The Corridor and the doors were the same as Pam remembered them, but this time she was prepared for the kaleidoscope of flicking and shuffling surfaces and looked straight ahead; she didn’t want to test her vestibular system right now. The door Jim opened before her was absolutely unmemorable — Pam thought that she’d never distinguished this one from others.

‘Um… and where is the horrible lightbulb explosion?’ asked Pam as they crossed the threshold, followed only with the rustle of their steps.

‘It happens only when you enter a timeline,’ Jim explained. ‘And this room is a part of this… place.'

‘This room’ looked like a gigantic storehouse, which walls and cellar disappeared in the distance; as far as the eye could see were containers of all sizes and colors, some rusty and old, some shiny and new.

‘Okay, so this exhibition was…’

‘Spring of 1874,’ Pam said.

‘And it took place?..’

‘In Paris, duh!’ she huffed as if that was obvious. ‘On Boulevard des Capucines.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Jim tapped his chin as he tried to remember the way and led Pam further until they reached the dusty blue container.

‘Century nineteen, years seventy to seventy-five,’ Jim said, opening the doors. ‘I think you’ll find everything you need here.’

Pam was surprised to find a neat room inside, with a sofa, a colorful carpet, a small table with a kerosene lamp, and fully-stocked bookshelves. In the corner was a chest — with clothes, Pam supposed; she made a few steps and lifted the top to prove her guess.

‘Ew! What’s that?’ Pam asked with disgust when she fished out of the chest something long, itchy, and neon green.

‘Oh, that’s probably from the early twenty-second century,’ said Jim, snatching the garment from Pam’s hands, and she suddenly felt so much sympathy toward her Meemaw with her constant disapproval of Pam’s fashion choices. ‘I have no idea why it’s here.’

‘You’re such a slob, you know it?’ Pam asked with amusement.

‘As a person who spent some time inside your closet, I can say you’re not the one to judge me,’ he answered carefreely and Pam blushed. ‘Well, I’ll leave you here. Knock twice when you’re ready.’

He left her then before Pam could ask him anything. She took the rest of the clothes out of the chest and stared dumbfounded at this heap of thin white cotton and dark green satin. What had to go first — chemise, bloomers, or stockings? Where to put the corset — under the dress or on it? How to keep the bustle thing at its place and who on Earth had decided that making women’s butt looking ten times bigger had been such a great idea? If there was a way to wear a hat without sticking those enormous hatpins into her head? Pam looked for instruction, but either her searching skills were terrible, or the creator of this room had decided that dressing up was such an easy task that it needed no workbook. Somehow she managed to put all the layers of the underwear on and fumbled with corset laces. Her fingers brushed something that Pam thought was a stumpwork embroidery and the next moment she gasped as the laces suddenly tightened around her torso. She frantically pressed on the corset, feeling as she couldn’t make any inhale, and finally, the laces loosened their grip. Pam made a few deep breaths to steady herself before continuing to dress up.

‘You look great,’ Jim greeted Pam as she walked slowly out of the container, slightly unsteady on high-heeled boots and visually unaccustomed to the weight of the new dress.

'It would be better if this thing didn't try to kill me,' Pam grumbled. ‘All these frills weigh like a ton, the corset tried to strangle me and it’ll be a miracle if I don’t trip over the hem at some point.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I had to warn you about the corset,’ said Jim. ‘I forgot that self-fitting clothes were not invented in 2008 yet.’

‘Huh, so, ‘Back to the Future,’ didn’t lie about that one?’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about, but…’

‘Tsk-tsk-tsk, I find your education severely lacking,’ Pam interrupted him, forgetting for a second about her uncomfortability.

‘Hey, I think I have a right to not know every piece of media of every century,’ he retorted, offering her his hand. ‘Shall we?’

‘Wait. Are you going to go like this?’ while Pam changed her clothes, Jim was still in his simple white button-down and slacks. ‘What about historical accuracy and so on?’

‘Oh, you’re about these? That’s pants and a shirt. Works for every epoch,’ he explained. ‘You just have to act as you belong here. In the worst case, they’ll think you’re a little bit eccentric.’

‘And I have to put on the whole wardrobe?’ Pam asked incredulously. ‘And don’t let me start about my butt cushion!’

‘Well, the women’s fashion is the reason we have all of these,’ he swished his hand at the bazillion of containers. ‘But don’t worry, if you attune to time-traveling, next time you won’t need to be so meticulous with your attire.’

Pam said nothing, but her heart fluttered in glee. She missed everything he’d said after the words ‘next time’.

The ‘storehouse’ was left behind and Jim opened a door before her; she could see a brick wall of a dark narrow alley on the other side.

‘Are you ready?’ Jim asked. Instead of answering, Pam took a deep breath and made a step.

The first thing that hit her was the scent. The heavy smell of the rain, the faint stink of manure, and the aroma of freshly baked bread filled her nostrils and though she’d made this journey through the door once, despite all the strangeness of her morning, the smell was the thing that made her believe that everything was real.

‘Oh my gosh,’ Pam said to no one. Her boot slipped on the wet paving stone and she’d have definitely fallen if Jim hadn’t grabbed her elbow.

‘Oh my gosh,’ the echo of the sound of their passage faded and Pam heard some clippety-cloppety noise and… neighing?

‘Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!’

‘I thought your vocabulary was bigger,’ Jim smirked, watching her reaction, but every quip Pam might have said died on the tip of her tongue: she looked at the exit of the alley they were staying at, and it felt like watching a retro movie, with the idly strolling people, dressed in vintage clothes, and passing carriages, drawn by horses.

She’d seen a horse alive just once before.

‘Well, if you stand like this you’ll never see the exhibition,’ Jim said and she looked at him with horror in her widened eyes. ‘Let’s go.’

‘No, no, no, I can’t,’ she shook her head with a panic, hugging herself tightly. ‘They’ll see us and they’ll understand that we’re strangers, and we’re gonna be in trouble.’

‘Hey, listen to me,’ he placed his hands on her shoulders to calm her down and Pam looked at his face; any trace of mocking disappeared from his voice. ‘I know it might feel weird, and scary at first, but that’s okay. I felt the same way on my first mission. Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious, just a quick tour. I’ll be there with you and if something — anything — goes wrong, we’ll instantly return home. Deal?’

She nodded, biting her lip. Jim smiled reassuringly and crooked his elbow, inviting her to put her hand there. And when she did that, they stepped out of the dark alley on stones of the broad boulevard.

Pam tried so hard not to gawk, but it was a vain struggle. Everything around was so _old_... and so, so _new_. Pam walked on stiff legs, gazing around at houses and signboards, people and carriages in a way that was highly inappropriate for a nineteen years old girl in the nineteenth century. But she couldn’t help herself, as she wanted to print these images in her brain for eternity, barely noticing puddles at her feet.

‘And here’s the gallery,’ he whispered to her as they reached the posh building. There was a little crowd near the entrance, and Pam felt like her anticipation, blended with fear, almost gave her a heart attack. She squeezed Jim’s arm so tightly that her knuckles turned white; even if her grip was uncomfortable for him, he didn’t show that.

There was a little hitch at the entrance when a grumpy old man in livery said something to Jim; Pam felt as sweat ran down her back as she was sure that they weren’t allowed to enter, that everything was in vain. But Jim retorted in such an arrogant tone, with such a haughty expression on his face, that the man bowed, murmuring something apologetically, and let them in.

‘What did you say to him?’ Pam whispered as soon as they walked away from the old man.

‘I said that I accompany The Crown Princess of Pennsylvania and that the gallery should be honored to greet such a guest.’

‘You couldn’t say that!’ Pam exclaimed, barely audible.

‘Or could I?’

Instead of answering, Pam smacked him in the arm in an absolutely unladylike manner, and Jim smirked; strangely enough, but, after that exchange, the frantic rhythm of her heart slowed down a little. They entered a big hall and Pam couldn’t hold her gasp of fascination.

‘Oh my gosh, this place and this time are perfect! Or, how do you guys call it? Timeplace?’ her eyes instantly skimmed from one showpiece to another, and she didn’t spot the way Jim’s face fell at her words as if he remembered something unpleasant.

‘Glad you like it. I… um... have to take care of a few things. Would you be okay to stay on your own for a little while?’ Jim asked with a slight concern and Pam nodded. Well, at least she thought that she nodded; truth be told, she barely remembered words Jim had said to her and missed the moment when he’d released her arm and stepped aside. All her world had narrowed to one hundred and sixty-five paintings around. She sauntered, looking at portraits and landscapes, the murmuring of people around, full of condemnation and mockery toward the paintings, was nothing but white noise to her. She got used to perceiving these masterpieces as classic, and it felt so weird and slightly funny to look at them when they still were something revolutionary and daring.

And then she saw it. ‘Impression, Sunrise.’ The cornerstone of the art style Pam wanted to dedicate her life to. And though she’d seen this picture thousands of times before — heck, the copy of this painting hung above her bed — watching it now hit differently. The copy was smooth and glossy; the original had an uneven surface with short unblended brushstrokes of paint across the canvas, and noticing how these splashes of color transformed into the figures, or silhouettes of ships’ masts, or gleams of sunlight on water sent chills down her spine. There was something magical in that; perhaps, before photography had been invented, people had felt the same way looking at the portraits and recognizing living people. Pam witnessed as living emotions and dreams have been captured on the material object and displayed for everyone’s attention, and that was the closest thing to the religious revelation she’d ever experienced.

_‘Êtes-vous une artiste, mademoiselle?’*_

Pam was snapped out of her reverent trance when one voice, calm and curious, sounded so near and without doubt, was addressed to her. She almost flinched, looked away from the painting, and saw a man with a reddish beard and melancholic grey eyes.

‘Oh! Um… I’m so sorry, I don’t…’ any knowledge of French she’d learned in high school disappeared without a trace as she panicked and mumbled her excuses. The man looked confused and even slightly ashamed that his question made her that uncomfortable.

‘I beg your pardon, mademoiselle,’ his English sounded strange to her ears, but definitely understandable. ‘I didn’t want to interrupt your contemplation, but the attention you paid to these works is so different from the usual public’s that I wondered if you were an artist yourself.’

‘Not at all,’ Pam answered politely, feeling like a blush colored her cheeks. ‘I mean, I had the audacity to consider myself as one, but after I visited this place I’m ashamed even thinking about this, about comparing me to the true masters.’

‘You might be not skillful enough yet, but you’re an artist — in your heart. I watched how you were looking at these paintings,’ the man said and waved his hand at the public strolling idly in the room. ‘People around look at them and see splashes of paint that are so shockingly different from the art they are habituated with — or francs that this art could be turned into. But not you; you try to see feelings that overwhelmed masters during the act of creation and thoughts that they captured on the canvas. It’s something rare and thus precious.’

Pam didn’t know, was she flattered or concerned by his remarks, shifting uncomfortably as his slightly feverish gaze lingered on her face.

‘Ah! Miss Beesly, here you are!’ she was glad as never before to hear Jim’s voice and to see him appearing near her. The other man nodded shortly and went away, and Pam exhaled slowly, feeling like she just dodged a bullet.

‘Who was that?’ Jim whispered as they walked towards the other exhibit.

‘I don’t know,’ Pam whispered back. ‘He just approached me and started talking about art and so on… ooof, that’s ‘Modern Olimpia’!’

‘Huh. Are you allowed to look at the pictures with naked ladies?’

‘Firstly, shut up. Secondly, yes. And thirdly, that’s not the ‘pictures with naked ladies,’ that’s _art_!’

They looked at the paintings. Then again, and then one more time. Then Jim said something about getting late, and Pam almost pleaded to allow her to buy one of these masterpieces since there was no one around who appreciated them as she did and since they cost nothing yet. And Jim said something about the lack of money and the changing of history, and Pam knew that he was right, but she still pouted a little.

‘The radiocarbon dating would show that the painting has been made recently,’ he explained. ‘They’d think that it’s just a modern copy, albeit a good one.’

‘Like I was going to sell it,’ she grumbled quietly, more to herself when Jim reached for his key to return her home. She almost missed the passage and just blinked several times when the marble of some empty room in vintage Paris changed into indistinguishable wood of the Corridor floor and then — into linoleum of her dorm room.

She couldn’t perceive everything that had happened; she couldn’t decide if she enjoyed that adrenaline rush that flooded her veins during her journey. Pam had never jumped with a parachute, but if she had done that she’d have recognized the feeling: paralyzing horror blended with pure ecstasy during the fly and wildly racing heart and wobbly unsteady legs after the landing. Her head spun as well and it had nothing to do with a long-forgotten hungover. She looked at the alarm clock near her bed and chuckled, slightly hysterically, at the numbers ‘8:51’ at the display: she was absent just a couple of minutes, but so much had happened. Her gaze slipped across her bed and the nearest wall, and for the shortest of moments her heart literally stopped.

‘That the…’

The copy of ‘Impression’ had disappeared. Instead, there was a portrait of a young woman on the poster, and a knot twisted in Pam’s stomach as she recognized the model. Her frizzy hair was almost auburn, and the creaminess of her skin was only emphasized by the rosy glow of her cheeks, and her green eyes sparkled the way Pam had never seen, but she recognized her.

After all, she still wore that exact dress.

‘What’s wrong?’ Jim asked, leaning against her closet and watching as she hopped on her bed to study the poster closer, the length of her dress was barely an obstacle.

‘The poster changed! And… that’s me on it!’

‘You?’ he squinted his eyes at the picture and nodded. ‘Yep, definitely you.’

‘But I don’t understand!’ Pam exclaimed while looking frantically for any cue. ‘Lynn gave me this poster as a Christmas present. I mean, not this, the previous one! With the ‘Impression’! Why did the poster change? How was it possible?’

She unpinned it and on the other side of the glossy paper read the description:

_Tibère Fournier, ‘La belle Américaine’ (1874-1875)  
Musée Marmottan-Monet, Paris_

‘Because history changed,’ Jim explained matter-of-factly. ‘That happens almost every time when you go somewhere. And, seems like you made a good _impression_ ’.

While Jim was clearly enjoying the situation, Pam couldn’t stop ranting, but, little by little, all the pieces fell into place.

‘That man I was talking to,’ she shrieked. ‘Oh my gosh, he was that artist! But… it’s impossible, he was never known for his works!’

‘What do you know about him?’

‘I read about him… well… not exactly about him, but his name was mentioned in my textbook, once or twice. Fournier was a friend of Monet and he died in an asylum. But that’s all, there was nothing about him being an artist...’

She fell silent.

‘Perhaps, he was an artist after all,’ Jim said at last. ‘He just needed the inspiration to create something beautiful.’

Pam paid no attention to an obvious compliment, saying instead:

‘But we still changed history. Isn’t that irresponsible? What if something horrible had happened? What if I was never born because of that? Or you? Or… I don’t know.’

‘Don’t worry, we have a protocol for disastrous consequences,’ Jim shrugged as if nothing had happened at all. ‘It was a shift, but a minor one. One painter drew a picture and died slightly happier. Nothing crucial for history changed, so everything is fine.’

Pam thought instead about the man she’d met at the exhibition and didn’t feel like everything was fine. His name was nothing but a short line in her textbook, but he had been a living person, with passions, ideas, dreams and aspirations, and that somehow hurt Pam.

Would she also be reduced to the line in the book?

Would she merit even one single line?

Would her disappearance be ‘disastrous’ enough for the ‘protocol’?

‘How could you do that?’ Pam whispered. ‘Go back in time, talk to people, knowing well that they’ve already died, knowing how much time they have and what happens next to them?’

‘That’s not easy,’ he said quietly, ‘but, after some time you adapt and learn how to protect yourself from these thoughts. Though sometimes… sometimes that’s impossible. And in these cases… well, you can either come to terms with the future or try to change it.’

There was some shadow in his eyes as he spoke, something obscure that aged him two times; Pam couldn’t imagine that this sarcastic guy was able to show such deep and pained emotions. But then his hand flew to scratch the nape of his neck, and he smiled bashfully and suddenly he looked like an insecure overgrown teenage boy, and Pam was left to believe that this shadow was just a trick of her imagination.

‘Um… actually… I have another present for you.’

‘Another present?’ Pam was surprised beyond measure. What had she done so far to deserve so much attention?

‘Yeah… well… it’s not like a present-present,’ Jim put his right hand in his pocket and fished out of it something. He reached out his hand and Pam saw a tiny golden pendant on a thin chain, its ends hung loosely between his fingers. ‘It’s a transmitter. If someday… I don’t know… you want to hang out with me… or something… press this button. I’ll receive the signal and find you.’

Pam cautiously took the pendant, the metal was solid, smooth and warm under her fingers. She squeezed it between her thumb and forefinger and gasped when for the briefest of the seconds this round object turned into something ductile and almost liquid. But the next moment the pendant was the same warm piece of solid metal as before.

‘Yep, like that,’ Jim chuckled. ‘Well… I hope you liked your journey.’

Pam just nodded silently, looking at him with a slightly puzzled expression.

‘Okay then,’ for sure, he’d expected a ‘thank you’ or some more cheerful emotions, so her silence unnerved him. ‘I… um… leave you now… so… have a nice day, I guess.’

He turned to the wall and took his key, ready to exit, when something made him turn to Pam again.

‘I thought that you got how to use the transmitter… oh.’

Pam looked at him with widened eyes, her fingers squashed the tiny golden token. After a second, she activated the device for the third time and watched as his eyebrows arched in surprise, and as his whole face illuminated with a huge grin and she had to bite her lip to restrain herself from grinning too.

‘So, where would you like to go _now_?’

* ’Are you an artist, Miss?’  
* ‘The Beautiful American’


End file.
